


Fragments

by loogandthemaidenofwind



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, War, idk how to tag anymore lol, margrave gautier is an asshole, miklan is also a jerk, spoilers for Crimson Flower, weapons!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25111405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loogandthemaidenofwind/pseuds/loogandthemaidenofwind
Summary: the broken story of two people who deserved so much more.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Fragments

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! thanks for clicking on this thing!
> 
> this thing... wow. this was a doozy. two months and a few weeks of writing, and here's what i got for you. i had a lot of fun writing this, and i hope you like it!
> 
> lots of thanks to my friend connor for beta reading some of it! love you, con con!

Sylvain Jose Gautier had always found comfort in solitude. Ever since he was a little boy, being alone was a sweet pleasure that he didn’t often get to indulge in. Because of this, night was his favorite time. He loved watching the silver moon spill it’s ethereal light over the grounds, and loved watching the stars like tiny pinpricks lighting up the world. He loved to let his thoughts drift away, away to places he never thought could exist, even within his mind.

But as he got older, they would always come back to the same thing. The same man. 

Felix Hugo Fraldarius. 

Their tale was a tragedy, broken and sad. Even Sylvain’s heart grew heavy thinking about what had happened. The tale had been shattered into fragments- tiny, fragile fragments that once made up a beautiful whole. And while the rest of the story was lost to his memory, he remembered these fragments as clear as day. 

Of all that he and Felix had experienced and endured together, these fragments were the most treasured of them all… 

+1

His first memory of Felix was the day they both first met. Sylvain was a young boy of eight with a mop of red hair, coffee-brown eyes, and a charming smile. He recalled being in slight pain at the time, thanks to an unfortunate encounter with his brother, Miklan, earlier. He sat between his father and mother in the carriage with Miklan on his father’s other side. 

The horses trotted along a winding path that led through a forest in the Fraldarius territory. Beyond this was a town, and then Castle Fraldarius, where Lord Rodrigue and his two sons lived. Sylvain had met the older of the two, Glenn, before. They got along quite well, though Glenn preferred to stay in his room and read rather than come out and interact. However, he had never met the second boy, Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

The last time the two elder Fraldarius men were at the Gautier Estate, Glenn had told him that Felix was five years old and a crybaby, earning him a sharp glare from Lord Rodrigue. Judging off this, Sylvain had assumed that Felix would be a spoiled brat of a boy, and was dreading having to talk to him. Miklan, at least, could go talk to Glenn. Those two were closer in age, and Glenn was strong enough to keep Miklan in check. But Sylvain would be stuck with this Felix. 

Sylvain admired the pretty scenery as the large, soaring evergreens and dirt paths turned into towering buildings and cobblestone roads. They had made it to the town, and it was bursting with life. 

Adults hurried across the streets, carrying parcels and packages from stores. People stood outside their houses, watering plants and chattering merrily with the neighbors. Children that appeared no older than him stopped running around and playing in the streets to gawk at their extravagant carriage. Sylvain smiled brightly and waved out to them. The kids looked awestruck, but one little boy with ash-colored hair hesitantly waved back. 

The horses slowed to a stop as they reached a pair of iron-wrought gates. Sylvain recognized them from his father’s descriptions. This must be the grand Fraldarius Castle. 

Two guards opened the gates for them and bowed them in, and the horses resumed their trot as they rode up to the castle entrance. Sylvain pressed his nose to the window in awe, taking in all the beauty. The castle wasn’t as grand as the one where the king and his family supposedly lived, but it was teeming with gorgeous flowers and plants of all kinds. There were hyacinths, violets, forget-me-nots, daisies, roses, lilies, chrysanthemums, to name all the ones Sylvain is able to identify. There were evergreen trees in the forests, and also soaring birch trees. Sylvain could just about spot a small gazebo in the distance from where he was. 

His mother noticed her younger son’s excitement and ruffled his hair. “Yes, it’s pretty, is it not? The late Lady always did love her flowers.” 

Miklan huffed a little. Sylvain didn’t have to be a mind-reader to know what he was thinking- pathetic. Miklan considered anything that was the least bit frivolous as a waste of time. 

His father shot both of his sons a sharp glare. “While you are there, you must be on your best behavior. If you disgrace the name of Gautier, I assure you, you will regret it later.” 

Sylvain lowered his head and nodded, feeling a dark cloud over his sunny mood. All Miklan did was grunt in assent. 

They finally arrived at the entrance, where a crowd of people were waiting for them as they dismounted. There was Lord Rodrigue, all warm, friendly smiles as he shook hands with Margrave and Lady Gautier. Next was Glenn, who clapped Sylvain on the back and exchanged a terse smile with Miklan. He looked behind him and called out, “Felix! Come on out, coward, they don’t bite!” glancing back at Miklan he added: “Probably.”

A tiny figure stepped out from behind Lord Rodrigue, where he’d been hidden by the Lord’s cloak. “I’m not a coward!” the figure, a small boy, exclaimed rushing over to Glenn’s side. And Sylvain takes his first look at Felix Hugo Fraldarius. 

He was small and scrawny for a five-year-old, dressed in a turquoise coat that looked too big for him and leather boots. He had hair the color of midnight, just long enough to be tied in a tiny ponytail with a few strands escaping their confines. His wide, amber-colored eyes get even wider as they take in Sylvain and Miklan. “Who’re you?” 

Glenn sighed. “I told you yesterday, Fe-Fe. That’s Sylvain, and that’s Miklan.” 

“Don’t call me Fe-Fe!” Felix huffed. His eyes swept over them, landing on Sylvain. “Syl… Sylvain?” 

“Yeah, that’s me,” Sylvain chuckled. . “And you’re Felix?” 

Felix brightened at the mention of his name. He reminded Sylvain of a kitten; tiny and curious. “Yeah!” He tugged at Glenn’s sleeve. “Glenn, can they play with me?” 

Glenn’s calculating eyes swept over the pair, taking in the venomous look Miklan was shooting Sylvain, and the awkward way Sylvain was holding himself, possibly from the injury Miklan had given him. “Actually, I was hoping that Miklan and I could have a sparring match?” His cold tone indicated that he was about to pay Miklan back for any possible damage he might have done to Sylvain. 

Miklan glared at Glenn, eyes full of venomous hate. “Challenge accepted.” 

“Okay, then!” Glenn clapped Miklan on the back with a little more force than needed. “That means Sylvain can play with you if he wants, Fe-Fe.” 

Felix turned to him with big, pleading eyes. “Please, can you play with me? Please, please, please?” 

“Of course!” Sylvain exclaimed, and Felix beamed with delight. He grabbed Sylvain’s hand and pulled them away from their parents, who were discussing territories and whatnot. Felix led him into the castle where they pick up the pace from there. They’re going so fast, Sylvain barely has any time to marvel at the architecture or the art hung upon the walls. Servants scurry here and there, doing some last-minute preparations, but they all stopped to smile at the duo as they speed by. 

Felix took him to a large room. The walls were the color of cream, and the floor was made of dark oak wood. In it was a four-poster bed with navy sheets, a large, dark oak dresser that matched the floor, and a dark oak desk covered in papers and pencils. It was undoubtedly Felix’s room. 

Sylvain looked around as Felix began rummaging through a toybox. He pulled out a fake sword and turned to Sylvain with excited eyes. “Let’s spar too!” 

“Okay!” Sylvain looked through the toybox and salvaged a fake lance and a fake shield. All Gautiers were supposed to use lances, he knew, but it seemed the Fraldarius family favored all kinds of weapons. Judging from the newer look to these weapons compared to the sword in Felix’s hands, he guesses that Felix liked the sword the best. 

Felix grabbed up a stuffed bunny and perched it on top of the dresser, then grabbed a stuffed dragon to set it in front of the bunny. He bounced around the room with an armful of toys and stuffies, placing them in different locations. Then he turned to Sylvain and proclaimed in all his five-year-old glory, “Look, knight! The bunny princess has been kidnapped by a fearsome dragon!” 

Sylvain struck a pose and got into character. “Then we must save her, comrade!” He brandished his lance at the stuffed animals. “Onward!” 

They ‘fought’ their way around the room, tossing the ‘evil’ stuffies aside when they were done with them. Until, at last, they reached the dragon. Felix shook his sword at the beast and yelled, “Release the princess, dragon! Or we will be forced to slay you!” 

“That’s right!” piped up a voice from the door. Sylvain and Felix both whipped around to see two more children, a boy and a girl. Both were blond, though the boy had icy blue eyes and the girl had warm green ones. The boy was decked out in blue furs, the girl donning white and turquoise. 

Felix’s eyes lit up. “Dimi! Ingrid!” 

Felix ran over and hugged them, and began chatting vigorously with the two of them. Sylvain stood awkwardly in the corner for a good five minutes before Felix remembered him. 

“Oh yeah!” Felix slipped his tiny hand into Sylvain’s and dragged him over to the boy and girl. “Sylvain, this is Dimi and Ingrid. Dimi, Ingrid, this is Sylvain!” 

Now that he was closer, Sylvain could see them clearly enough to read their expressions. Dimi had a pleasant smile, but his eyes looked tired and weary. Ingrid, on the other hand, had a bright grin and a determined sparkle in her eyes. 

With the game and bunny princess forgotten, the four begin talking, slowly melting the ice between them all. He learns that Ingrid wants to be a pegasus knight and that Dimi was actually Dimitri, the crown prince of Faerghus. He then learns all about the shenanigans they’d had before Sylvain met them. Including something involving winter, a snowbank, Glenn, and Felix getting stuck. 

They spent all night chattering. Even all the way through the stuffy noble dinner and then the after-dinner tea. Sylvain even got goodbye hugs from all three of them. Something sparked in his heart as he looked around at all of them. He was sure that nothing could break this apart. 

And even as the carriage pulled Sylvain and his family away from Castle Fraldarius, Sylvain was still smiling, the fire in his heart still burning bright. 

For the first time, he felt truly happy. 

+1 

It was another beautiful winter day. Last night’s snow had settled, powdering the ground and the roofs and the tips of the plants peeking out through the coat of white. Sylvain walked through it, smiling joyfully. He was especially happy because Glenn and Felix were staying at the estate for a while. He’d finally have some good company. 

Two years had passed since he first met them, and those two years had brought them very close together. They were best friends, partners in crime, running all over the place, and having great times. And while they got into minor scrapes and struggles sometimes, Sylvain couldn’t be happier. 

“Where do you think you’re going, brat?” 

Sylvain felt the warm happiness in his chest freeze into dread. Miklan was here. 

He stepped menacingly toward Sylvain, who scrambled backward. “What do you want, Miklan?” he asked, trying to remain casual. 

“What do I want?” Miklan chuckled. “I’ll tell you what I want. I want the position you stole from me, with your fancy Crest and fancy skills.”

Sylvain felt like tiny shards of ice were slowly piercing into his heart. Normally, Miklan would rule their territory because he was the oldest. However, Sylvain was born with the Minor Crest of Gautier, and Faerghus customs dictated that he would be next in line instead, all because of the Crest. Sylvain found it terrible, but there was nothing he could do. He would take the Gautier territory. And Miklan hated him for it. 

“Nothing to say?” taunted Miklan. “Figures. You’re just a useless child. You don’t even deserve the position. But no. You were born so perfect and special-” 

“Stop!” The words were out of Sylvain’s mouth before he could stop them. 

Miklan’s features contorted into a snarl. “What was that, brat?” 

“I said stop!” Sylvain should have stopped talking and ran away, but he plowed on. “This wasn’t my fault! I didn’t ask to be born with it! So stop blaming me and find some other solution.” 

Then, everything happened at once. He felt Miklan grab him by the collar, heard his angry voice saying, “Oh, don’t worry. I will find another solution.” 

A heartbeat, and then he was being flung into the air. The cold wind whistled in his ears as he free-fell, and he screamed at the top of his voice, fearing for his life. 

Sylvain splashed into something. Horror took over his senses as he realized what was going on- Miklan had thrown him into the well. He treaded water and gasped for breath, his clothes getting soaked by the icy water. “Miklan! Miklan, help me!” 

All he heard was a menacing laugh. “No one’s coming to help you. I’m finally gonna get my dream…” 

His footsteps echoed down into the well as he walked away. 

“Please!” Sylvain screamed. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes as he tried to grip the well’s mossy walls. “Please, anyone! Someone help!” 

He felt the cold seeping into him, like it was taking over his body. With what remaining will he had, he screamed for help, but no one heard him. Sylvain sobbed as he cried out over and over again, desperately trying to stay afloat and not let his waterlogged clothes make him sink. He shouted until his throat was raw, but nobody was there to hear him. 

“This is the end…” Sylvain realized. He covered his mouth to stop another heart-wrenching cry. “No… no! I never wan… never wanted…” 

He closed his teary eyes. He had to accept it. This was his fate- to drown in an icy well all alone, unloved by his brother and by himself. “I’m sorry, everyone… I’m sorry…” 

Just when he was about to give in to the icy water, he heard a faint cry from above him. “Sylvie!” 

His eyes flew open and he treaded water harder and more determinedly than ever. His savior had appeared. He wasn’t going to die today. “Fe!” 

“Hang on, Sylvie!” There was a great creaking noise, and a large bucket splashed down next to him, attached to a sturdy rope. He half-grabbed, half-climbed into it, and was whisked back up. 

The first thing he saw was Felix, only seven years old at the time. His face shimmered with tear tracks and he was crying as much as Sylvain was. His cheeks were bright red from the cold and he cuddled into his jacket. Glenn was standing next to his little brother. While he wasn’t full-on crying, his eyes sparkled with tears and pure rage. A few of the palace men were there too, frantically hoisting Sylvain up from the well. 

The second he was back on the ground again, Glenn enveloped him in a warm, brotherly hug. Sylvain held on to him and tried to hold his tears back. Is this what having a real brother was like? 

Felix clutched onto Sylvain like he was his lifeline. “Sylvie!” He cried into Sylvain’s sopping jacket. “I thought you had… had…” 

“What is going on here?” boomed a powerful voice. They all turned to see Margrave Gautier marching toward them, a stern expression on his face. Sylvain’s mother hurried behind them, her face pale with worry. 

Margrave Gautier took in the scene- the soaking wet Sylvain, the Fraldarius boys holding onto him, the palace men who were standing around them. “What happened to my son?” 

Glenn spoke first. “Sir, we found Sylvain in the well. I don’t know how he got in there.” 

The margrave looked like he wanted to address Sylvain, but Glenn cut in. “Please, sir. Your son needs to get into the warmth so he doesn’t get hypothermia. You can question him then.” 

For Glenn’s sarcastic nature, he could be very calm and collected when he needed to be. 

“Very well.” Sylvain’s father nodded. “My son, go inside and warm up. Then we can find out who did this to you.” 

Without another word, the palace men whisked him, Glenn, and Felix inside. They left Glenn and Felix in front of the grand fireplace and brought Sylvain to his room. They took away his wet clothes and replaced them with warm, woolen ones. Then, they had him pace around the room to get his blood flowing again. Slowly, his fingertips went from blue to white and back to pink. 

They brought him back to Glenn and Felix, wrapped blankets around all three of them, and got him some hot soup. Felix grabbed Sylvain’s hand in his own tiny one, and Glenn wrapped an arm around him. They said nothing, only held him close, which Sylvain appreciated. 

While Sylvain was sipping his soup, his mother and father came in. His mother’s hands were shaking with worry, but his father looked enraged beyond belief. When he spoke, his voice was fraught with disappointment. “Sylvain, who did this to you?” 

“M-M-Miklan,” Sylvain muttered, his teeth still chattering from the cold. He felt tears coming to his eyes and furiously blinked them back. 

Sylvain’s mother gasped and sank down onto a couch, her face turning paler. His father’s face contorted with even more fury. “Miklan?! You’re sure of this?” 

Sylvain nodded. “H-He c-c-called me a brat and p-pushed me in.” This time, he couldn’t stop the tears. He put down his bowl of soup and buried his face in his hands, more tired and miserable than ever. Felix squeezed his hand and Glenn tightened his grip on Sylvain. 

“I… I see…” Margrave Gautier seemed to be controlling his temper. “I will deal with him. And thank you, Glenn and Felix, for finding him.” 

With that, he stormed off, probably to Miklan’s room. Sylvain’s mother rushed forward and hugged Sylvain too. “He won’t hurt you anymore, sweetie,” she whispered. “I’ll be back soon.” 

She hurried off, most likely to join his father. 

Sylvain sniffed and turned back to his friends. Felix looked more relieved now that Sylvain was okay, but Glenn had a very serious expression on his face. “Sylvain, what else has he done to you?” 

Sylvain suddenly felt very small and very scared. He rolled up his pants leg to show off a few bruises. 

He felt something small and warm lean onto his shoulder and looked down. It was Felix, who looked back at him with big, watery eyes. The seriousness melted off of Glenn’s face and was replaced with fiery rage, like he was going to stab someone. “Miklan did those?!” 

“Yeah.” Sylvain’s voice was barely a whisper. “And… and r-remember when you f-found me on that c-cold mountainside?” 

Felix breathed in sharply and Glenn growled, angrier than ever. Sylvain started crying again, tears coming down faster than he could stop them. “Pl-please, no more, no m-more…” 

Quiet fell among the three. Glenn and Felix held on to Sylvain, letting him cry his bitter pain away. It was the first time he had really broken down in front of them. They stayed cuddled up like that, listening to the sounds of thumping and yelling from upstairs. Sylvain wondered miserably what would happen next. 

The thumping and yelling moved closer and closer. They were probably heading back downstairs. Sylvain whimpered and curled closer to his friends, who held onto him even tighter than before. 

There was a slam of a door, then a piercing silence. Calmer footsteps made their way towards them, until Sylvain’s father opened the door. “I kicked him out now, my boy. He’s gone.” 

Sylvain’s mother appeared behind him. “You’re safe, my brave son,” she added, her voice soft and silvery. “You’re safe.” 

He nodded and closed his eyes. All he felt was tired and numb. He knew that this was all an act, a ruse in front of Glenn and Felix. Once they left, his father would surely yell at him for being weak. He would surely complain about how he wanted a better heir. And Sylvain would surely be punished. Even considering it made him feel hollow inside. 

One by one, everyone filed out- except for Felix. He cuddled close to Sylvain, his warmth a nice contrast from the icy cold well. “Sylvie?” 

“Yeah, Fe?” 

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever,” Felix promised. His eyes gleamed with determination. 

If he knew about all the other demons tormenting Sylvain, maybe then he’d be more hesitant about fighting them off. 

Sylvain smiled weakly. “Thanks, Fe. I’ll protect you too.” 

All he remembered was falling asleep cuddled up with Felix, dreaming of better days, to be woken up by a smiling Glenn in the morning and to find happier times to come. 

+1

Six years passed by with the four friends getting into all sorts of shenanigans. Sylvain led the group as the main troublemaker. At first, Felix was his willing accomplice but as he grew out of the little boy stage into a teenager, he stopped being so excited about it. He would still, on occasion, consent to wreaking havoc with Sylvain. Ingrid served as their voice of reason, snagging them from sticky situations and scolding them thoroughly afterward. And Dimitri was their calm in the storm, taming their fiery personalities. But in the end, they were best friends, who laughed together, cried together, and perhaps even die together, Sylvain thought. 

Six years. Six beautiful, peaceful years. Six years to laugh and cry, to fall and get back up because they were all young and stupid, carefree and ready to live out life. 

But then it was all ripped apart. Truly ripped and scratched, not the little tears that were some of their spats and frustrations at each other. No, this was something much different.

They were ripped up by the fact that Glenn Fraldarius was dead. 

In fact, Dimitri’s father and stepmother had also gone out with him. All of them had perished in the flames of Duscur, leaving Dimitri as the lone survivor. 

Sylvain didn’t know what had happened exactly, but the people of Faerghus blamed those of Duscur. Most of them perished in the war that followed, except for a boy Dimitri had rescued during his time there. But, upon his return, Dimitri strongly insisted that it wasn’t the people of Duscur who launched the attack against his family, that they were innocent. Sylvain didn’t know who or what to believe at first, but he stood by his friend's side and supported his claims. 

The funeral for King Lambert and Queen Patricia had been held in Fhirdiad, which Sylvain had attended last week. Glenn was to be buried in Fraldarius, so Sylvain and his parents had traveled over, to pay their final respects to the brave knight. 

Sylvain sat in the cold hall, the coffin containing what was left of Glenn just out of reach. Beside him was Ingrid, her face stark white and her hands shaking. Sylvain knew that she had truly loved Glenn, and looked up to him. He reached out to hold onto her trembling hand for comfort. 

On his other side was Dimitri, eyes blank with horror. He had seen Glenn die, Sylvain realized with a pang. But even if he tried to hold Dimitri’s hand or even hug him, it would be futile. Dimitri was almost completely unreachable these days, his smiles turning false and his eyes lacking their usual sparkle. Nowadays, he only really seemed to talk to the boy he had rescued from Duscur, Dedue, who was sitting next to him. Sylvain grabbed ahold of Dimitri’s hand anyway, squeezing it for comfort. 

And then there was Felix, stuck in the very front row, right in front of his dearly departed brother. From what Sylvain could see, his eyes were glued to the coffin, and his face, like Ingrid’s, was deathly pale. 

Sylvain longed to do something, to hug him or even clasp his hand like he was doing with Ingrid and Dimitri. But all he could do was sit, watch, and pray that Felix would be alright. 

Lord Rodrigue was talking at the podium, his voice echoing around the chilly hall. “My son, Glenn, faced his end with honor and responsibility. I cannot be more proud of him. He sacrificed his life, as his duty decreed. He died like a true knight. Because of this, and even though I say this with a heavy heart, I have very few qualms about his death.” 

He kept on talking, but Sylvain wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes were glued to Felix, worry coursing through his system like a river. Felix was frozen, face white with shock, his attention shifted from the coffin to stare at his father in pure disbelief. And Sylvain couldn’t blame him. What kind of father said that about their own son?! 

Well, he could think of quite a few fathers who would say that about their own sons. But hearing Lord Rodrigue say it… Sylvain’s heart clenched. How could he? 

Lord Rodrigue finished his speech. “So thank you all for coming to pay respects to my son. There will be a fifteen-minute break, after which we will then bury the coffin.” 

Felix immediately got up from his seat and darted out of the hall. No one tried to stop him. Ingrid was shaking with sobs next to Sylvain, tearing her hand away to cry into them. Dimitri was leaning heavily onto a somber Dedue, looking tired and more miserable than ever. Sylvain took a look at his friends and decided that, between all of them, Felix’s need was greater at that moment. He rushed out the door to find him. 

Outside, it was raining and Sylvain was getting soaked, but he stumbled through the slippery mud, searching desperately for Felix. He finally spotted a small figure hunched near the flower garden, shaking. 

Sylvain knelt down next to Felix, putting a hand on his shoulders tentatively. “Hey, Fe.” 

Felix looked up. His face was wet, from rain or tears, Sylvain couldn’t tell. His hair was plastered to his neck by the rain, and his little suit was drenched. “Sylvie…” 

“Hey, now…” Sylvain hugged Felix, trying to shield him from the rain. “I’m so, so sorry about Glenn. He was like my brother too, and I… I’m so sorry, Fe.” 

He heard a sniff and looked down, startled- he saw Felix crying silently into his shoulder. “D-Did you hear what my father… what he… what he said?!” 

“I know, Fe.” Sylvain stroked Felix’s wet hair. “It was horrible, don’t believe him. Glenn deserved so much more than what he got.” 

“It’s not fair!” Felix bawled, now fully sobbing, his face pressed against Sylvain’s chest. “I… it…” 

“Shh, I know…” Sylvain whispered. His heart wrenched with pity and sorrow for the broken boy in his arms. “I know, Fe, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

He held onto Felix until his cries subsided. The rain was pounding harder and harder, and they were both thoroughly drenched by now. Sylvain gently tugged on Felix’s arm. “Hey, Fe, we gotta go back now, okay?” 

Felix sniffed again. “I… don’t know if I can…” 

“Hey, I’ll be by your side, okay? You won’t have to go in alone.”

Felix clutched Sylvain’s shirt. “P-Please, never leave me…” 

“I’ll never leave you,” Sylvain said calmingly, pulling himself up into a kneeling position before Felix. He barely knew what he was saying. All he wanted his words to do was to make Felix feel better. “We stay together until we die, Felix.” 

“Promise?” 

“Promise. Now let’s get you back inside, yeah?” 

The boys walked off, away from the merciless rain, back to the cold hall, filled with people and their friends whose eyes that used to shine with hope and love and memories that had glowed golden. But they had each other, and that was enough for them. 

+1

“Hey there! Hey? Aw, she didn’t notice me…” Sylvain sulked and looked at Felix for some sympathy. 

Felix paid no attention. “I don’t care about your sad attempts at flirting,” he said calmly, testing the blade of his sword with a finger. A whetstone lay on the ground near him. 

In reality, Sylvain wanted to ask where she got her book bag from, but he doubted Felix would listen. “Oh? Then how about you try flirting with someone, eh?” 

“I don’t want to flirt with anyone!” Felix exclaimed indignantly. “So shut up or I will chop-” 

He was cut off by a long sigh from Dimitri. “Peace, you two.” 

It had been four years since Glenn had passed away. Four years for everyone to grow, heal, and change. Now, the four of them were attending the Officer’s Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery. Sylvain could have gone a while ago, but he’d wanted to go with his friends. He wasn’t the oldest in his class, though. There was a girl named Mercedes who was three years older than him. 

They were all in the Blue Lions house, the house designated for Faerghus students. Their teacher this year was Professor Hanneman, a renowned Crest scholar, and while he was skilled in knowledge, his battle techniques seemed to be subpar. Sylvain could see that from his first few months with him. 

Then again, he didn’t see how Professor Manuela could be better. As the school nurse and former songstress, she could maybe offer healing and singing tips, but that’s not what Sylvain needed. 

And the new teacher, Professor Byleth, was a total mystery to him. 

He knew that she was the daughter of the renowned mercenary, Jeralt the Blade Breaker. He also knew that she had saved Dimitri’s life, along with the other two house leaders’, from some bandits. However, he didn’t know much about her teaching style. Maybe, as a mercenary, she would know more about strategy and combat. Sylvain wondered if it was worth looking into. 

“Shut up, boar,” Felix hissed angrily. He promptly got up and stomped away, leaving the sword he was sharpening on the grass. 

Dimitri looked helplessly at Sylvain. 

All Sylvain knew was that something had happened during Dimitri and Felix’s maiden battle, that left Felix convinced that Dimitri was a monster, no more than a wild animal. A boar. Sylvain didn’t want to take sides between his two friends, but something told him that if he didn’t try to solve this, he just might have to. 

“Don’t worry, your Highness.” Sylvain got up and ruffled Dimitri’s hair. “I’ll go talk to him for you.” 

Despite the fact that he’d been here for quite a few months, navigating the monastery was hard, and he must have gotten lost three times before he finally found Felix’s room. “Felix?” he called through the crack in the door. 

“What do you want?” Felix’s muffled voice filtered through the door. 

“Fe…” Sylvain hesitated. What could he do? “Here, come on. Let’s get some lunch.” 

The door swung open, Felix glaring at him from in the room. “Fine,” he muttered sulkily, and let Sylvain lead the way to the dining hall. 

They got their meals, a two-fish saute, and sat down in a corner where almost no one could hear them. 

“Hey, Fe, talk to me.” Sylvain took a bite of his food. He almost cried from how good it was. 

Felix looked up from his own meal. “What would you have me say?”

“Tell me what’s going on with you and Dimitri,” Sylvain began. “You guys were such good friends. We all were. So what happened?” 

Immediately Felix scowled. “I told you. He acts so kind and proper, but on the battlefield, he’s nothing more than a wild beast. A filthy boar.” 

Sylvain shifted uncomfortably. “Hey, now, that’s a little harsh-” 

“It’s what I saw. Take it or leave it.” Felix went back to his food with gusto. 

There was no winning this one. Felix was too stubborn for that. Sylvain would just have to bring it up another time. Mend it some other way. “Okay. Talk to me about something else, then.” 

They made idle chit chat for the rest of the meal, and Sylvain left the dining hall glowing. The simple joy of talking and eating with a close friend was something he’d missed in the years after Glenn’s passing, when he hadn’t been able to see his friends as much as before. 

As he walked down the hall, he suddenly heard footsteps and voices approaching him from the other direction. 

“Here’s the information you wanted, Seteth.” 

Professor Byleth and Seteth were walking down to where Sylvain was. He quickly hid behind a pillar. He normally wouldn’t snoop, but secret information seemed pretty interesting. 

“Thank you, professor.” 

He heard the soft thuds of Professor Byleth’s footsteps as she walked away. A few seconds, and the tap-tap-tap of someone running across the hall. This time, Flayn’s voice spoke. “Hello, brother. What were you talking to the Professor about?” 

A sigh from Seteth. “She just got me some information about some thieves.” 

“Thieves? What have they stolen?” Flayn’s voice replied. 

“A Heroes’ relic. The Lance of Ruin from House Gautier.” 

Sylvain’s stomach lurched as his heart began to pound harder in his ears. Their relic, stolen?

Seteth kept on talking. “Apparently the leader of these thieves is a disowned son of House Gautier, though I don’t think he bears a Crest. Ah well, we’ll find out more in due time…” 

Their voices got more and more distant as Sylvain crouched behind the pillar, feeling sick to his stomach. “Miklan…” he muttered, frenzied. 

His mind seemed to switch to autopilot as he ran up to his room, dodging and weaving past his peers. He wrenched the door open as if his life depended on it, and quickly swung it shut before anyone could see his panicked expression. Taking deep, frenzied breaths, he collapsed onto his soft bed. 

His brother… his brother was back. 

Sylvain pressed his hands to his ears as tears quickly misted up his eyes. He wished that it was all some terrible nightmare and he’d wake up to find that nothing had been stolen. But this was very, very real- as real as the day Miklan left him on the mountain, or threw him in the well, or did his very best to get rid of Sylvain. 

He curled up in his nest of blankets. Maybe he’d just take a nap and miss his next lecture. That seemed like a good idea to him. 

But even as he drifted off, his troublesome thoughts still lingered. What would happen in the next month… 

+1 

Miklan was dead. 

Dorothea, a girl from the Black Eagles, had delivered him the grim news. Their class had been sent on the mission where they encountered him. She told him that his brother had turned into some kind of monster, transformed by the Lance of Ruin. She said that the church had taken away the weapon when they got back. 

Good. 

Sylvain never wanted to see that thing again. 

She had told him how sorry she was, and how she was always here to talk if he needed it. Her words had barely registered in his ears. He mumbled that it was fine and that he was going to go to his room. 

Miklan. Dead. 

They didn’t seem to fit. 

Laying on his bed, Sylvain tried to figure out how he felt. Miklan had been horrible to him. He’d abused him, physically and mentally, and damaged his self-worth. He made Sylvain feel like he owed him something- as if Sylvain had stolen something from Miklan. He had wrongfully blamed Sylvain for something he couldn’t control. He was rude, abusive, and a terrible person. 

It should have been the end of the story there, right? 

But Sylvain could almost understand how Miklan felt. He could almost understand why he did the things that he did. Should he be forgiving him? Should he forget that Miklan ever existed? Should he push the feelings away like he always did? 

Sylvain pushed his face into a pillow and groaned. He wanted a drink, he wanted to sleep, he wanted to do anything to forget that any of this happened. 

He heard the creaking noise of his door opening, but he didn’t turn around to register it. Soft footsteps moved towards him. Felix’s voice, gentler than he had ever heard it, spoke up. “Sylvain?” 

Sylvain didn’t do or say anything. He felt the bed shift as Felix sat down. “Sylvain, talk to me.”

“Is it just you here?” Sylvain muttered thickly. He didn’t think he could look Felix in the eye without breaking down. 

“Yeah,” his voice answered. “You had them all fooled with that performance, but I know you better.” 

Sylvain laughed without humor. He felt jaded, broken down into the worst bits of himself. “Well, if they hated me, they could’ve just said so.” 

“No one hates you,” Felix’s voice was calm, the same way Glenn’s was on the day they found him in the well. “They’re really concerned, but they think you need space. You need to learn to talk to people if you want help.” 

All the fight drained out of Sylvain, leaving nothing but emptiness. He finally flipped over on his back to face Felix. Felix had an expression of rare concern etched all over his face. “What do you want, Felix?” 

Felix sighed. “I’m checking on you, you dolt. I’m worried about you.” 

“You? Worried?” 

“Of course I’m worried!” exclaimed Felix. He looked almost angry. “Don’t you feel anything? At all?” 

“Oh, Fe, I’m feeling so many things,” Sylvain whispered, just loud enough for Felix to hear. He didn’t care if it was exposing a part of him he kept secret, he just couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. “So, so many things.” 

A delicate silence stretched over both of them. Felix’s face contorted into some expression Sylvain couldn’t understand, but he seemed to be struggling with something. At last, he blurted out: “Come spar with me.” 

Sylvain wasn’t sure if he heard him right. “What?” 

“Spar. With me. It might make you feel better.,” Felix said, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

“This is your way of trying to make me feel better?” Sylvain teased. A little shock of happiness sparked through his system. 

“Shut up!” Felix swatted his arm. “Just come and spar already, Sylvie.” 

“Heh, okay, Fe.” Sylvain reached over and wrapped his arms around his waist. “I love youuuu-” 

Felix yelped and tried to push him off, face tinged with red. “Hey! Okay! Enough, get off of me!” 

That made Sylvain laugh for real. He missed the simple pleasure of joking around with a friend. But as he looked at Felix’s flustered face, he felt the strangest urge to kiss him. 

No, no. That was ridiculous. Sylvain tried to clear his head of it as he let go of Felix and walked over to the sparring grounds with him. As they approached, he noticed two figures sparring- Professor Byleth and Jeritza. It looked like a hard fight, but the professor eventually bested Jeritza. She calmly helped Jeritza up, wiped the dust away from her sword, and walked out. 

“Hello,” she greeted as she walked by them. 

Felix nodded at her. Sylvain grinned. “Hey, Professor.” 

But her display of strength had Sylvain thinking. If he wanted to run Gautier territory well, he needed a good instructor in combat and tactics. As he’d noticed before, it was clear that Hanneman wasn’t as good as Byleth when it came to that. He hated to even entertain the thought, but maybe a class change was in order. 

“Sylvain?” Felix tugged on his sleeve, impatient as ever. “Are you still with me?” 

Sylvain snapped out of his stupor. “Huh? Yeah, yeah. Let’s get fighting.” 

Yet the thought lingered on as he sparred with Felix. And as it grew and grew, the more he began to accept it… 

+1

Sylvain always joked that he joined the Black Eagles for all the pretty faces. 

In truth, he really did want to get serious about his education, like he mentioned before. He knew that his future role in life would involve a lot of fighting. As the next Margrave Gautier, it would be his duty to keep the Sreng at bay. He needed to be a good commander and an adept fighter. And just like before, a few lectures with Professor Hanneman showed that learning good fighting techniques from him was highly unlikely. 

However, Professor Byleth was different. She was a renowned mercenary, meaning she would have all kinds of fighting tips. She was closer to Sylvain’s age, and understood her students better. Her lectures were always short and to the point, rather than Hanneman’s droning on about useless information. So when she came up to Sylvain, asking him to join her class, he didn’t even have to think about his answer. 

Well, that wasn’t fully true. There were three things holding him back: his friends. How could he leave Felix and Dimitri and Ingrid behind like that? His heart insisted that he stay with the friends that he was loyal to. But solid fact still remained- Sylvain had to find a teacher that could actually teach him the skills he needed. So in the end, he’d accepted her offer, and soared off to his new class. 

As his heart had warned him, leaving his friends was the toughest challenge. He was friendly with some of the Black Eagles already. He and Ferdinand could hold pleasant conversation, Hubert was always up for a game of chess, and he and Dorothea got along relatively well. But it didn’t replace Dimitri’s laughter or Ingrid’s tired scolding or Felix’s grudging smiles. And even though he was surrounded by people, Sylvain was lonelier than ever. 

Dimitri no longer looked him in the eye if they saw each other in the halls. Ingrid never spoke to him, only shot him wary looks from where she thought he couldn’t see. And Felix was avoiding him altogether, always darting away whenever Sylvain came near. 

Sylvain wished they could all stay friends despite his class change. However, something in their dynamic had shifted the moment Sylvain agreed to switch. He had tried to corner them in halls and try to talk to them, but they were uninterested in him. Eventually, he stopped trying, no matter how much it hurt. 

But still… Felix’s birthday. Sylvain remembered all the birthday parties they’d had as children. There would always be a big, stuffy dinner run by the adults, but the four would always get together at the end and have some fun. He remembered the year that Glenn had helped them set off fireworks in the stables for Dimitri’s birthday. They had gotten in so much trouble, but the look on King Lambert’s face was worth it. 

He knew he had to do something to break the ice. This was too important to miss. 

Down at the marketplace, he searched for a gift. He felt ridiculously like someone trying to find the right engagement ring for the person they loved. He scanned racks of flowers, shelves of rare meats, even a pet store full of mewling cats. But none of the gifts seemed to suffice. 

“Think, Sylvain!” he whispered to himself. “What else does Felix like?” 

And then it hit him- weapons. “Of course!” he said out loud. “Felix would want a sword!” 

A little town girl gave him a side-eyed glare, but he didn’t care. He skipped off to the merchant’s stalls to browse. 

When he got there, he was disappointed. All the swords he saw were basic, made out of steel and boring. Felix wouldn’t like any of those. With a heavy heart, he resolved on getting Felix something else on some other occasion. He was just about to leave when something glinted in the corner of his eye. 

He turned around to see the most beautiful sword he had ever beholden. 

The blade was made of silver, and it gleamed. Though it was in the sunlight, it seemed to glow with a different light, like the soft glow of magic. The edges were honed to perfection, sharp and deadly. The hilt was intricately carved with symbols and runes, and the pommel was shaped like a skull. It was perfect, and Sylvain knew that it was exactly what Felix would want. 

“You have a good eye,” the merchant told him. “That sword’s from Morfis, and it has powerful enchantments on it. It’ll last ya.” 

“How much?” Sylvain reached for his money pouch with trembling fingers. 

The merchant considered. “You seem like a good fellow, so I’ll cut ya a deal. A thousand gold.” 

It was a hefty price for a sword. But Sylvain knew that Felix would like this the best. He handed over the money and grabbed onto the sword. 

As he walked back up to the monastery, he tried to sort out his jumbled emotions. Nervousness, excitement, and fear were swirling around inside of him. What would Felix say to him? Would Felix even pay attention to him at all? 

Sylvain was so focused on his feelings, he didn’t even notice that he was right outside the training grounds until he almost walked into the doors. He took a shaky breath in, trying to push back his nerves, and stepped into the training grounds. 

Right off the bat, he saw Felix- a whirlwind of white and black and silver, dodging and slashing at the training dummies. Sylvain tried to be discreet, but somehow Felix sensed him anyway. Here goes, Sylvain thought nervously. 

Felix shot a glance at Sylvain, glared, and went right back to his stabbing. 

Well then. Off to a great start. But Sylvain was feeling really, really weird...

“Hey, Felix,” Sylvain started off tentatively. He could barely hold on to the sword because his palms were so sweaty. 

What was going on? Despite the shroud of awkwardness, Felix was still his close friend. Talking to him had never been this difficult. But something had changed. Felix had grown up now. He wasn’t the cute, chubby-cheeked boy Sylvain had known when he was little. Nor was he the moody teenager that awkwardly stood in the shadows, looking so out of place. 

Felix now held himself with confidence and pride. He made his moves like he was more sure of what he was going to do. He moved so quickly and struck with such strength, it was almost inhuman. Sylvain noticed a glow lighting up the air around him from time to time- the Crest of Fraldarius at work. 

But Sylvain couldn’t help but zero in on other details, like the fluidity and grace of Felix’s movements, and his slender yet powerful form. The way he was effortlessly beautiful, the way his hair swept the back of his neck… 

He was almost attractive. 

Sylvain shook his head. No, no, no. It was so inappropriate to think of his childhood friend, the boy he had known for so long, as attractive! What was happening to him? 

“Oh. It’s you,” Felix muttered moodily. He continued swiping at the air with his sword. 

“Uh…” Goddess, this was so awkward. He didn’t know what he did to offend Felix, but it certainly wasn’t helping his case. “Practicing a new technique?” 

Felix sighed. His training sword slipped from his grasp and clattered loudly on the cobblestones. Sylvain stayed silent, wondering if Felix was going to ditch swords and throttle him with his bare hands.

Luckily for Sylvain, Felix turned to face him, scowling. “Just… what do you want, Sylvain?” 

“Well, it’s your birthday, isn’t it?” Sylvain laughed nervously, trying to diffuse the tension. “Eighteen’s a special age, no?” 

“It’s the same as any other year, idiot,” huffed Felix. He crossed his arms defiantly, like he was protecting himself from Sylvain. The image made Sylvain feel worse than ever. 

“Hey, c’mon, Felix…” 

“Don’t tell me to c’mon,” Felix snapped. His eyes were bright with anger. “You left me with that boar prince, and Ingrid, who’s always scolding me for this and that! And for what? Some… some girls?!” 

It took all of Sylvain’s resolve to stop him from yelling, or crying, or running away. He hated how Felix seemed to have such a low opinion of him. Was that how everyone saw him? A stupid boy who lost all his focus the second he saw a pretty girl? Was that what he was now reduced to? 

He allowed himself a few seconds to regain his composure. Felix was staring at him, breathing heavily, eyes still wild and angry. The tension in the air was like glass. Fragile, and dangerous to break. 

“Felix.” Sylvain’s voice was steady, yet deadly quiet. “Do you really think that’s all I think about? Girls?” His hurt seeped into his voice the longer he talked. “I thought you knew me better than that, Fe.” 

Felix looked down at his shoes. “Hmmph,” he muttered. “Just make it easier for the both of us and tell me why you’re here.” 

This really wasn’t going as planned. He hadn’t expected Felix to be so angry with him. Regardless, he didn’t spend a thousand gold on this gift for nothing. 

“Well, I got you a birthday present.” Sylvain presented him the sword. “Many happy returns, Felix.” 

Felix took it. Despite what he said before, he looked intrigued. He turned away from Sylvain and slashed through the air with it. “Good balance,” he admitted grudgingly. 

Sylvain’s heart soared. “Do you like it?” 

“Hmm… yes.” Felix faced Sylvain and seemed to notice the happy look on his face. His expression dropped into a scowl. “I mean, it’ll do.” 

“Well, it suits you,” Sylvain told him. And it was true. In the red light of the sunset, Felix looked fierce and powerful with his new sword in hand, like an ancient warlord. “So… do you forgive me?” 

Felix seemed to be struggling with an angry retort. “...maybe. We’ll see” 

“Hah, okay.” Sylvain smiled. He knew that swords were the way to Felix’s heart. “Well, see ya around, Fe!” 

He left the training grounds with a grin on his face. Maybe, just maybe, there was hope. 

+1

All in all, Sylvain considered his reasons for joining the Eagles as pretty good ones. He realized later that out of the four, he was the least loyal. He was older, more distant, more likely to run off and talk to someone else. It shook him to the core, but it was true. 

He expected the rest of them to stick with the other Lions like glue. So he was more than shocked when Felix stormed in one day, plunked his book bag on the desk, and sat down next to Sylvain. 

“Felix?” Sylvain whispered in shock. “What are you-” 

“Shut up, you dolt!” Felix hissed. “The lecture is starting.” True enough, the professor was shuffling through her notes, ready to talk. 

All through the lecture, Sylvain could barely focus. He tried to pay attention and take notes, but it was hard with Felix sitting right next to him. He kept sneaking little glances at him- noticing the way his hair curled around his ear, taking in the little scars and scabs on his hands. 

He could hardly believe the odds, this stroke of luck. Just when he realized that he might be in love with Felix, he showed up one day? It was almost too good to be true. 

He realized how much he’d missed Felix, how he’d yearned for his snippy comments and annoyed eye rolls. Sure, he did really like Felix, but he had forgotten what it was like to have a real friend with him, even if that friend was being a little passive-aggressive. 

When the bell finally rang, Sylvain made his move. He grabbed Felix’s wrist before he could go anywhere and stared him directly in the eye. “Hey, Fe. Can we talk? Please?” 

“What do you want from me?” Felix glared at him, his eyes piercing into Sylvain’s very soul. Goddess, Sylvain had missed that glare. 

“Nothing, I swear. Just… talk to me?” 

“Whatever,” Felix muttered. He let Sylvain drag him out of the classroom and onto the lawn. They both sat down on one of the benches. “So, what is it, Sylvain?” 

“Wow…” laughed Sylvain. “Sorry, I just can’t believe you’re here!” 

“Hmmph,” Felix huffed. He wrenched his wrist away from Sylvain’s grip. “I came here to learn things, you fool. Professor Byleth is much more skilled in the way of the sword.” 

“Oh yeah? I’d say she’s great with all weapons,” Sylvain said. “Like, her brawling and reason skills? Legendary.” 

Felix scowled. “Ugh, she has me training in reason. I don’t know why.” 

“Oh hey, same!” Sylvain bumped Felix’s shoulder with his own. “We could study together if you want.” 

“I…” Felix seemed to be struggling with himself, with his apparent dislike of Sylvain but his need for a tutor battling inside him. “Maybe. If I’m free.” 

Silence fell between the two of them, giving Sylvain some thinking time. Having Felix back was a real game changer. The fact that he had now a real friend who he could fix his bond with was amazing. But how to fix their bond? 

“Hey, do you wanna meet Dorothea?” 

Felix shot him his trademark scowl. “Your newest girlfriend?” 

“What?” Sylvain laughed out loud at the thought of it. “No! I think she has a thing for Ingrid, actually.” 

“Oh!” A surprised expression sprung onto Felix’s face. “Well… uh, sure.” 

Sylvain grinned. “Welcome to the Black Eagles, Fe. Let’s go.” 

+1

But the happy school days didn’t last. 

Edelgard had it planned brilliantly, down to the last T. She had declared war on the church, war on the nobility, and war on the Crest system. She had promised to tear down the corrupt system and let the world be reborn anew, into something greater than before. 

All of the Black Eagles sided with her. 

Professor Byleth sided with her.

And Sylvain sided with her too. 

The world she dreamed about was the world that he wanted to live in. A world where Crests didn’t matter, where you were judged for what you brought to the world and nothing more sounded like paradise. The thought of being free from all the expectations that came with a Crest… it lit him up inside. 

And he knew that such a world would’ve made Miklan a better person too. Maybe even a better brother… 

Regardless, he swore that he would do anything to win this war. But he didn’t know how true his words could hold, for Dimitri and Ingrid fought on the other side. Apparently Dimitri had gone completely unhinged after Edelgard declared her war, just like the version of Dimitri that Felix had known. A wild boar. 

The thought of striking down his childhood friends, the first people that he could be open with… it made him sick. 

But some things were okay. At least he had Felix with him. 

The same Felix who was standing next to him, armor strapped on and sword in hand, preparing to storm the monastery. “Are you ready, Sylvie?” 

Sylvain took a deep breath and gulped down his doubts. Sacrifices had to be made to make a better world, sadly, no matter how unwilling he was. 

“I’m ready, Fe. Let’s do this.” 

+1

So many familiar faces. 

There was Edelgard, holding hands with the professor and talking about war plans, but still smiling brilliantly. There was Hubert, skulking in her shadow, glaring at everyone who came near. Classic. There was Ferdinand, still exuberant, but a little more subdued. There was Dorothea, his dear friend, surrounded by some village children and looking exhausted. There was Petra and Caspar, talking animatedly while Linhardt napped with his head on Caspar’s shoulder. There was Bernadetta, hiding in the corner as if she wished she could disappear. 

Even after five years, their demeanors were about the same. 

There was them, the recruited Golden Deer (Lysithea, Raphael, and Ignatz, all standing awkwardly in the corner), and so many more. Warriors, after a hard fought five year long war, now all rejoicing at all the happy faces. People locked in embraces, talking and laughing, or crying into each other’s shoulders, just thankful to all be here and alive. For now, at least. 

The moment was beautiful, shining golden in the grime that is war. But someone was missing .A scowling, amber-eyed, raven-haired swordsman. Someone Sylvain couldn’t physically go on without. He needed Felix. Now. 

He walked around the hall, catching up with everyone, laughing and smiling, joking around as usual. When really, he was desperately searching the large hall, scanning for Felix amongst the people. Where could he be? 

After talking with everyone and still not finding Felix, Sylvain found an empty corner and leaned against the wall, distressed. If Felix had somehow not made it back… 

And then it struck him. Of course Felix wouldn’t be with the crowds, he hated crowds! So he must be at… 

Sylvain smacked his own forehead, drawing concerned looks from people around him. Goddess above, he was so stupid! Felix was obviously at the training grounds! 

And, sure enough, when he got to the place, Felix was there. Sylvain hadn’t realized it when he was inside, but evening was coming in, and the sun was descending over the horizon. But he knew that it wasn’t going to stop Felix from his training. Felix’s hair was shorter now but still long enough to be tied back. He had new clothes too. A turquoise coat over a white shirt and- Sylvain’s stomach did a flip- navy blue thigh-high boots. He dodged and slashed and hacked with all the old grace, whirling around like a miniature tornado. 

Just the sight of him sent whirlwinds blowing through Sylvain’s stomach. He was hit with many emotions all at once. He wanted to dance for joy, he wanted to lie down and sob with relief, and he wanted to hold Felix close and never let go. He felt short of breath, but he called out anyway: “Hey, Felix!” 

Felix whipped around to face him. Those amber eyes were still the same- honey-gold and full of fire. Something of a smile formed on his face. “Sylvain?” 

“That’s me,” Sylvain chuckled, walking over to Felix. His hands were shaking and he felt faint, but he rested his hand on Felix’s shoulder. “How are you?” 

“Hmmph.” Felix shrugged him off. “I’m faring well. And yourself?” 

A smile stretched over Sylvain’s face. “I’m great. Especially now that I’m seeing you again.” 

“I suppose I echo the sentiment,” said Felix thoughtfully. “I… well, I thought you maybe died and I wasn’t there.” 

A rare moment when Felix was sentimental. “Hey…” Sylvain placed boths hands on Felix’s shoulders. Felix didn’t try to shrug him off. “I don’t go down so easily. Besides, we stick together till we die together, eh?” 

Felix closed his eyes and leaned his head onto Sylvain’s hand. “Mm…” 

Sylvain’s heart might have floated out of his body. He felt light-headed and short of breath again, like he’d suddenly gotten rid of a thousand pounds of armor. Goddess, Felix would be the death of him. 

Eventually, Felix seemed to remember himself. He pulled his face away from Sylvain’s hand and shrugged Sylvain off in a flash. His face dropped into his normal scowl. “Okay, well, I need to continue training. Get out of my sight.” 

The words seemed harsh, but Sylvain knew that it was Felix’s awkward way of communication, and he loved him for it. “Alright, then. Make sure you come for dinner. And don’t overexert yourself. And make sure you drink water and-” 

Felix huffed. “No need to fret. And… Sylvain?” 

“Yeah, Fe?” 

Felix seemed to struggle with his next words. “I… I’m glad you’re not dead…” 

Sylvain’s heart warmed. He knew that Felix did care, despite his snippy words and glares. “I’m glad you’re not dead too, Felix. See you at dinner.” 

Felix nodded and picked up his sword once more. He resumed destroying the training dummies. Sylvain turned around and began to walk off, with the clanging sounds of Felix’s sword ringing behind him. He played and replayed the scene that had just happened in his head, feeling like a giddy schoolboy. 

Love was a complicated business, but Sylvain was never one for giving up. 

+1

This battle was done, with more questions than answers. 

They had just taken over Arianrhod, the Silver Maiden. It was a hard battle, but they had prevailed in the end. Relieved, they had relaxed, let down their guard, prepared to scrounge the fortress for resources. When suddenly, a mysterious beam of light shot down from the sky and vaporized the entire building. Most everyone had gotten out in time, but those who hadn’t… well, Sylvain hoped their death was quick. 

He had another issue weighing on his heart, however. 

Ingrid was dead. And Sylvain may have caused it. 

He had galloped up to her on his horse, dread rendering him almost immobile. She had been in the sky, on her pegasus, just where she liked to be. He still remembered the shocked look on her face, and the scoldings she had given him. Just like old times. 

As they marched through the rain-soaked fields and muddy plains, he remembered the exact look that had blossomed on her face as the arrow pierced her chest. He couldn’t move, but he watched a squad of archers shoot her and her battalion down. Her dying scream seemed to echo in his ears. 

Sometimes he caught glimpses of his classmates’ faces. Linhardt moved sluggishly, leaning on Caspar for support and staring at his own hands in horror. Dorothea looked awful. Sylvain knew that she loved Ingrid as much as he did, maybe even more. She marched with her face tilted down toward her feet, but Sylvain knew that there were tears pooling in her eyes. Petra was marching next to her, an arm around her for support, looking sad yet grim. Ferdinand looked confused, conflicted. Sylvain wondered if this fit his definition of nobility. 

He couldn’t see Felix. He speculated that he was either behind him or up discussing war plans with the professor, Hubert, and Edelgard. Still, he was very worried about him. He had lost not only Ingrid, but his father as well. And though Felix and his father were estranged, Sylvain knew that some feelings would surface in Felix. He resolved to check on him when they camped for the night. 

And… some selfish part of him wanted to break down too. Find some sympathy, let out his own feelings. But Felix had to take the priority. He would worry about himself later. 

When the sun began to set, they stopped and set up camp. Some of their supplies had been blown up at Arianrhod, but they managed. Everyone moved as if on autopilot- completing their tasks and trying to push back to horrible feelings within. 

The silver moon claimed the sky, and Sylvain padded over to Felix’s tent. He heard some muffled sounds inside- the swinging noise of a sword, and an angry yell. 

“Felix?” Sylvain called. 

The noises stopped. Sylvain waited a heartbeat until the tent flap was wrenched open. 

Felix glared at him. He was breathing heavily. His sword was clenched in his hand, fingers white around the hilt. His face was red from anger, but it was also streaked with tears. “What do you want?!” he shouted. 

“Felix…?” Sylvain tentatively reached out for him. “Are you… are you crying?” 

“No! Shut up! I’m no-” Felix’s voice broke. “I’m not cr-” 

He buried his face in his hands and roared with frustration. “I’m n-not cr...crying!” 

Tears glazed Sylvain’s own eyes as he watched Felix break down in front of him. He held out his arms, and Felix fell into them. 

“It’s okay to cry, Fe…” Sylvain muttered through his own tears. He pulled them both toward Felix’s cot and sat down. Felix was leaning heavily on Sylvain and collapsed onto his side. 

“I don’t know why I feel like this,” Felix whispered harshly. “I knew the risks, I knew the cost. So why-” His voice broke off again and he gave in to silent sobs. 

There was nothing Sylvain could say or do. He didn’t have any promises to make, any questions to ask, any soothing response to give. All he could do was hold the crying Felix in his arms and let him sob into his shoulder. 

He bent and laid his head on Felix’s shoulder, quietly beginning to cry too. “I love you…” he whispered into Felix’s shirt, where he knew he couldn’t hear. 

He didn’t remember how long they cried together, two broken men against the world, who had lost too much and gained too little. All he knew was that the next morning, he woke up with a sleeping Felix curled up next to him, tear tracks on his cheeks and a peaceful expression settled onto his features. 

+1

It was over. 

The long, bloody war that had trampled and destroyed everything dear for five horrible years was finally over. 

There was a grand party being held in Garreg Mach, tired warriors finally throwing down their arms and celebrating a new dawn. Musicians had flocked over to Garreg Mach, and were now playing everything from upbeat songs to slow melodies as people chattered, laughed, and danced. Battle-worn warriors twirled their sweethearts around on the dance floor. Hubert was grudgingly dancing with an excited Ferdinand. Linhardt was letting himself be spun around by Caspar. Bernadetta was skulking in the corner with snacks. And Petra was in a deep discussion with Edelgard about something, with the professor watching it all, a sad smile on her tired face. 

Sylvain was leaning against a wall, watching the festivities and fun with a sad smile. Sometimes people would come and ask him to dance but he would politely decline. He had too many things on his mind, and not enough time to go through them all. 

Somewhere very late in the night, Dorothea strolled up to him, wearing her normal reddish-magenta dress and a frown. “Sylvain,” she greeted, leaning on the wall next to him. 

“Dorothea,” Sylvain returned, turning to look at her. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, I thought I’d try to get you to dance with me. You’ve been looking so sad over here and you look like you could use some cheer.” Her tone made it clear that this wasn’t a choice. 

He reluctantly took her hand and stepped out into the crowd. They began doing a complicated dance that he just about knew all the steps to. As they danced, he scanned the throng of people for Felix, but there was no sign of him. Where could he be?

Dorothea noticed his distracted glances, his stares. Lowering her voice, she said, “Looking for Felix?” 

“I… uh…” Sylvain sputtered. “...yeah.” 

Dorothea gazed at him with pity in her eyes. “Oh, Sylvain. You really are in love with him, aren’t you?” 

He had known it for years but hearing someone else say it was both amazing and scary at the same time. There was a swooping feeling in his stomach, but also a clenching feeling in his heart. “I suppose I am,” he responded, trying to keep his tone neutral. 

“Oh, come here.” Dorothea dropped his hands and pulled him away from the floor, pushing through the many dancers. She led him back to the wall where he’d been standing and began speaking again, keeping her voice low. 

“You know, you two could get married. It wouldn’t exactly be illegal. Why, just look at Edie and the professor.” 

Sylvain spared a glance at the Empress and her soon-to-be wife. They both looked extremely tired and battle-worn, yet happier than he had ever seen them. 

“I know, ‘Thea, I know. I just… don’t know if he feels the same.” 

She let out a sad laugh. “That’s how love is sometimes. But you know, you’ll regret it if you don’t. I made that mistake and… it cost me.” She gazed past Sylvain’s shoulder, looking off to somewhere he can’t see. 

His heart clenched. “You’re talking about Ingrid?” 

“Yes.” Dorothea sighed sadly, squeezing Sylvain’s hand. “I… I loved her, but I didn’t think she’d love me back. And now she’s…” 

Her sentence trailed off there, but the final word hung unspoken between them- dead.

Dorothea continued. “I still wonder, what would have been different if I took that chance? Could I have saved her? That thought still haunts me at night sometimes…” Her eyes filled with tears, but she smiled at Sylvain anyway. “What I’m saying is: don’t let him get away from you. If he does love you, it’ll be all the better for both of you. And if not… well, at least you’ll know.” 

Inspired by her words and amazed by her wisdom, Sylvain nodded. “I… thanks, ‘Thea. I will. Do you happen to know where he is?” 

“No, but I think I saw someone heading down the road to the town.” Dorothea winked at him as the song ended and the dancers stopped. “Good luck, now. Tell me how it goes.” 

It was the best lead he had. He thanked her, squeezed his way through the crowd, and ran off down the road to the town. 

He indeed found Felix down the road, right outside town. He was sitting down next to two freshly dug piles of dirt, eyes closed. He looked so beautiful and ethereal, soaked in the moonlight, that Sylvain had to stop and stare. Then he jogged the rest of the way down, taking off his dancing shoes as he went. 

Sylvain didn’t announce his presence, but Felix looked up anyway. His eyes locked on to Sylvain’s, his gaze intense. “Sylvain.”

“Felix.” Sylvain dropped next to Felix, feeling more tired than he had all day. “We won, didn’t we.”

“Depends on what your definition of what ‘winning’ is.” Sylvain stayed quiet at these words, feeling more somber than ever.

When Sylvain didn’t say anything more, Felix pointed at the first mound of dirt. “Dimitri.” He gestured at the second. “Ingrid.” 

Everything in Sylain’s body seemed to freeze and his heart was sent reeling. His childhood friends, who he had- his heart lurched again- fought against, were now resting beneath this soil. All he could do was stutter out, “H-How did-” 

“Well, that might not be Ingrid. I went back to Arianrhod a while ago and got… got some ashes…” Felix swallowed hard. His face was deathly pale, just like the day they buried Glenn. “But that’s Dimitri’s body. I sent someone for it after the battle. Spent all evening burying them while the party was going on.” 

Sylvain stared at the mounds of dirt, remembering Ingrid’s scream as she fell from the sky, remembering Dimitri’s cry of pain as Edelgard killed him with her ax. “And what would her Imperial Majesty think of this?” 

Felix laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Who cares?” He glared at Sylvain, obviously mad that he hadn’t helped him bury the bodies. 

“Listen, Felix, I’m so sorry that I-” 

“Hmmph.” Felix turned his face away from Sylvain in displeasure. “Well, if you want to make yourself useful, go get them some flowers or something.” 

Wordlessly, Sylvain got up and wandered down the road, finding a field filled with vibrant flowers. He stooped down to pick some violets and lavender that were growing there. But violets led him to think of Ashe, then Dedue. The lavender made him think of Mercedes, then Annette…

He gulped back tears as he stumped back over to Felix, setting the flowers on the graves and taking a shaky breath. Felix stared at him again, his gaze a little softer. “Are you thinking of the others?” 

Sylvain nodded, words failing him. Felix filled in the void of silence with his own voice. “I wish I could’ve gotten their bodies too, but it was too risky. But I couldn’t let Ingrid be forgotten, and the boar… Dimitri… Edelgard surely would’ve done something horrible with his body.” 

“Are we going to mark the graves?” asked Sylvain, eyes sadly glued to the flowers. 

“I’m not sure that her Imperial Majesty would like that so much.” Felix looked down at his lap. “But at least we’ll know.” 

The pair stared down at the dirt and flowers, the sad remains of the fearless, headstrong pegasus knight, and the powerful yet compassionate king. Dawn began to creep over the horizon, tinting the whole world a soft shade of orange. At the sight, Felix stood up and brushed himself off. “Well, it’s about time for me to go.” 

“Go?” Sylvain asks, standing up as well. “Back to Fraldarius already?” 

“No. I talked with Edelgard and the professor today. I’m giving up my territory and becoming a mercenary.” Felix’s eyes became distant. “A life wandering the land, getting to fight at every turn… it sounds wonderful.” 

Sylvain’s heart seemed to stop, and alarm bells went off in his head. Felix was leaving?! No. He couldn’t leave! Sylvain couldn’t physically take it if he left. Dimitri was dead. Ingrid was dead. Everyone he once loved was gone. And now Felix was slipping from his grasp too? “Fe… Fe, I-” 

“I’m sorry, Sylvain, but there’s nothing you can say or do to make me stay. I have nothing here,” Felix continued, eyes settling calmly on Sylvain’s panicked frame. 

“B-But, Felix, you can’t just… can’t just…” 

“I can’t what, Sylvain!” Felix snapped at him, his patience gone. “This is my life, my choice! There’s nothing left for me here, and this is what I want to do. I’m going, and you can’t stop me.” 

“Fe, that’s not what I-” 

“Meant?” Felix supplied mockingly. “Tch. You know what you meant, Sylvie.” 

Struck dumb by the use of his childhood nickname, all Sylvain could do was stand there, numb, and watch Felix stalk away, off into the dawn. Into his new dawn, new life. No, he had to do something. He couldn’t let Felix leave and be mad at him. “Wait! Felix, please wait!” 

Sylvain ran down the road as fast as he could, determined to reach Felix, who had slowed down but hadn’t stopped. Sylvain reached him, grabbed his hands, and stared right into his eyes. “Felix… thank you… for everything. I… please stay safe out there.” 

It was all he could say. But it somehow enraged Felix even more. “You’re… thanking me?! Ugh, why do I even bother trying to tell you anything?!”

“I… what did I do-”

But Felix was already running away as fast as he could, the morning light capturing his image perfectly. Sylvain knew that trying to call him back was pointless, so he slowly made his way back up the road, the numb shock of it all piercing him like a lance to the chest. Where was that confidence that Dorothea had instilled in him? Was he really such a failure of a man that he couldn’t even talk to his love without hurting him somehow?

He managed to make it to Dimitri and Ingrid’s graves before his strength betrayed him and he fell to his knees. “I wonder if you two can hear me…” he whispered to the earth where they lay. “Maybe you two will haunt me.” He let out a short, broken laugh. “Will you?” 

They didn’t respond. Of course they didn’t. They were dead. 

Sylvain pressed his elbows to his knees and cried into his hands. “I’m sorry… oh, I’m so, so sorry, Ingrid, Dimi. Pl...please, forgive… forgive me…” 

They were gone. Gone. 

All he had left was Felix; a man he might never see again. 

They were gone. 

Sylvain wished he could go with them. 

+1

“Margrave Gautier, what should we do?” 

Sylvain bit his lip in frustration. He was tempted to yell, I don’t know, figure it out yourselves! 

He hadn’t expected the new rulers to give him his own territory back. However, they had somehow deemed him worthy and allowed him his own place. He was following the destiny that was always made for him, he supposed- inheriting his father’s role and protecting his people. He just hadn’t expected it to be like this. 

It was a lonely life. Barely anyone stopped by for him. Sometimes Byleth and Edelgard would come and discuss negotiations, but those were rare occurrences. Dorothea used to stop by for tea almost every week, but her visits had been less and less frequent. 

He didn’t mind the solitude. There was only one person Sylvain wanted to see, and the chances of meeting him were thinner than that man’s own patience. 

During the day, he drowned himself in work. During the night, he couldn’t. He lay awake thinking about what could’ve been different, what he did wrong. Did he really make the right choice? Could he have saved Dimitri and Ingrid, if he had stayed with them? Maybe they would be here, instead of resting beneath the soil outside the monastery. 

And maybe Felix would be here too. 

Despite all this, Sylvain had tried to keep up a jovial appearance. However, due to recent circumstances, happiness was much harder to fake.

Recently, the Sreng had been launching more attacks. At first it was nothing major- a little thievery, a little border crossing- but things got more intense by the day. They pillaged small towns, killing the people and stealing the crops, and forcing people out of their homes in droves. Sylvain had invited them to stay in his estate, but it was getting fuller by the day. And at the rate things were going, they would have a full-on war if Sylvain couldn’t stop it. 

Think, Sylvain. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out everything else. It’s like a chessboard. There’s some strategy we can use. Think…

“I don’t know,” he said to his advisor. “I’ve tried every peaceful way. But it seems our only option is fighting.” 

“But, sir!” another one protested. “They have a bigger force and better weapons!” 

“I am aware of that,” Sylvain replied, trying to keep his anger from seeping into his voice. “I’m not sure what we should do. Let’s all take a night to mull it over and see if we can come up with anything in the morning.” 

“So, I hear you need a hand?” 

Sylvain whipped around, a hand instinctively reaching for his lance. 

“Whoa! Sorry, sir, didn’t mean to scare you…” 

A figure stepped out of the shadows to face Sylvain. It was a young boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with obsidian-black hair and a determined gleam in his bright green eyes. 

“Oh!” Sylvain’s hand drifted away from his weapon upon seeing the boy. “Hello, lad. Can I help you?”

“No, but I think I can help you.” The boy smiled at him. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Luchenne. I was an orphan living at one of the villages that the Sreng attacked.” 

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Sylvain returned his smile. “What was that about helping me?”

“I’ve been looking over maps ever since I came here. I think I know something that could help.” Luchenne pulled out a map of Faerghus, or what used to be Faerghus before the Empire took it, and spread it out on the table. He pointed at the border between Sreng and Gautier. “See, the border is ridden with impassable mountains. But the Sreng are coming in through here.” He tapped a place on the map, a place between two mountains. 

“And?” Sylvain asked. 

“It’s the perfect choke point,” Luchenne explained. “You can wait over here and cut them down as they approach.” 

Sylvain scratched at his red stubble. “I see your point, Luchenne. But we don’t have adequate forces. We’re short about thirty men.” 

Luchenne’s eyes began to gleam. “That’s the thing. I know a mercenary band you can hire that will give you the adequate force. They’re called the Masked Guardians.”

Mercenaries? Sylvain had never considered that possibility. He wanted to smack himself for making such a foolish oversight. “Tell me more.” 

“They’re a strong and skilled group from all walks of life. I think they have around thirty or forty people,” Luchenne explained. “They were actually part of the group that helped the empress take down those Slither people.” 

“And how do you know them?” Sylvain asked. 

“When I was younger, I traveled with them a lot.” Luchenne’s eyes got a faraway look. “Their leader was always kind to me. But the life of a mercenary wasn’t for me. I parted with them and settled down in the village, but the leader promised that he’d be there if I needed him.” 

“I see.” Sylvain didn’t know if he could trust this boy, but they were all out of options. He supposed that he had no choice. “Would you mind talking to this leader for me?”

“No problem!” 

The next day, while Sylvain was eating breakfast, a servant came to him and bowed. “Margrave, sir, there’s a young boy here to see you. He says his name is Luchenne?” 

“Let him in,” Sylvain ordered. He wasn’t sure how he managed to look commanding with half a sausage sticking out of his mouth, but the servant bowed again and hurried off. 

A few minutes later, Luchenne came in. His cheeks were red from the cold and he was shivering, but he still managed to grin crookedly at Sylvain. “Hey, Mr. Margrave, sir.” 

“Hello, Luchenne. You can eat something if you want.” Luchenne grabbed a waffle and started chewing at it as Sylvain continued talking. “So, did you find them?” 

Luchenne swallowed and wiped his mouth. “Yeah, I did. But, see… it’s complicated.” 

“What happened?” Sylvain laced his fingers together and leaned forward. 

“Well…” Luchenne shifted uncomfortably. “Their leader wants to meet with you. Says that he needs to know if you’re worth saving.” 

Worth saving? Don’t these people know that lives are at risk? Sylvain thought to himself. Ah well, beggars can’t be choosers.

“Alright. Bring this leader here around noon. We can discuss this over lunch.” 

Ten minutes before the meeting with the mysterious leader, Sylvain sat nervously in the dining hall, twiddling his thumbs and trying to ignore the nervous feeling settling in his stomach. He’d asked the guards to leave them alone, but now he started to wonder if that was a good idea- what if this man attacked him? 

He was just about to call them back when the door creaked open. Sylvain gulped. There was no going back now. 

“Welcome.” Sylvain rose to his feet as he sized up the Masked Guardians’ leader.

The leader wore a white and turquoise coat over a black shirt, thigh-high boots, and leather straps to hold his weapons in place. A sheathed sword hung by his side. True to the name, he wore a large mask painted black and gold, but you could just about see strands of midnight-colored hair peeking out. 

He looked so familiar, but Sylvain couldn’t figure out how. 

The leader didn’t respond to his greeting, just nodded and took a seat. When he spoke, his voice was low and muffled by the mask. “You need our services?” 

The man even sounded familiar. 

“Yes,” Sylvain said. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Sreng have been attacking our borders. They kill our people, raze our villages, steal our possessions, everything. I’ve tried every peaceful way I know how to solve this conflict, but nothing works. It’s time to resort to force.” 

“And where do we fall into this?” the leader asked. 

“I need you to join my troops at the border.” Sylvain told him. “There’s a choke point between two mountains, but we don’t have the adequate force alone. We need your forces to come with us.” 

The leader looked down at the table for a few long seconds. Finally, he spoke: “Very well. I will help you.” 

Sylvain exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” 

The two shook hands, sealing their deal. The man’s grip was firm and a little painful. Sylvain could swear that he knew that grip. 

But from who? 

He tried to push the question away as they made more preparations. 

The rest of the details blurred in his mind as they traveled. His mind had a hard time remembering the long travels and large battles, so all he recalled were smaller details. A field of violets. A soldier weeping over his dead lover’s corpse. A burned and looted village. A soldier and a Masked Guardian sneaking out at night to be with each other. 

But he remembered one small skirmish well. It wasn’t a big thing. Around the end of their battles, a small band of Sreng warriors had ambushed Sylvain, the Masked Guardians’ leader, and a few of his soldiers. Normally they would be able to take it well, but everyone was tired and worn from the previous battles. No one could tell who would win. 

The leader seemed to be taking it the worst. He already had other injuries, but he was getting hit more and more by the warriors, tossed around like a rag doll. Sylvain and his soldiers managed to overpower the other warriors, and it was seemingly over. 

Sylvain caught his breath and focused on the trees. Suddenly, he noticed movement in the greenery- a warrior sneaking towards the leader of the Masked Guardians, axe raised high and aimed to kill. 

“Watch out!” Sylvain shouted. 

The leader turned just as the warrior struck down at his face. 

The leader dazedly spun around once before collapsing to the ground, his split mask falling off of his face. His weapon clattered to the ground next to him, glowing faintly. 

Sylvain rushed to the leader’s side as some of his soldiers took down the warrior. 

He gathered the leader up in his arms, taking his first good look at the leader’s face. His skin was milky pale, and there was a deep diagonal scar across his face from where the warrior had hit, going from his left eyebrow to the right side of his mouth. All of his hair was out of his scruffy ponytail, a curtain of bluish black. His eyes opened for a second, widening as he noticed who was holding him, before fluttering shut again. 

But it was enough of a glimpse for Sylvain. His eyes were a color of amber and honey that he could never quite pinpoint- a color that he knew all too well. 

“Felix…” Sylvain whispered. His eyes blurred with tears until he couldn’t see anything, but he couldn’t care less. 

Medics came rushing out, and Sylvain snapped back to his senses. He calmly explained everything that had happened as they hoisted up Felix and carried him into the tent, pushing back his personal feelings for later. Someone else brought in Felix’s sword, and Sylvain examined the blade carefully. There was no doubt about it- it was the same sword that he had gifted him all those years ago. The fact that Felix had kept it stirred up something in him, and he excused himself. 

As he sat outside the medical tent, feeling the cool air on his skin, he tried to sort out his jumbled emotions. There was relief that Felix was here. Jubilation at his return. Anger that he hadn’t returned sooner, frustration that he had hidden his identity from him. 

What was he going to do now? 

The silver moon rose in the sky as Sylvain continued waiting. He noticed his soldiers retreating to their tents, exhausted from the long day. Fatigue was tugging at his own eyes as well. But he couldn’t sleep without knowing Felix was okay. 

Eventually, the tent flap opened, rousing Sylvain from his daze. Out stepped Felix, a little paler than usual, with a few bandages covering the scar on his face. His cloak was wrapped around him, so Sylvain couldn’t see the other bandages, but he moved gingerly from the other wounds inflicted on him. 

When Felix saw Sylvain, his face seemed to fall. He immediately turned and shuffled away, stopping just in front of his tent. Either he couldn’t move or he didn’t want to, but he stopped there and tilted his head up towards the sky. 

“You know… I missed you so much, it hurt,” Sylvain said quietly. 

Felix made no move in return, just continued staring at the pale moon. 

“It’s such a lonely life, being here,” he continued. “I’d often reminisce about our old school days. I still wonder what I could’ve done better, what I could’ve done to make things easier.” 

He thought he heard Felix make a sound, but he never moved. 

“Fe…” Sylvain reached towards him, his old friend, his whole world, everything he had left. “When all this is over, will you stay?” 

Felix turned around, the luminous moonlight making him look just as beautiful and ethereal as he had on the last time Sylvain had seen him. His cloak whipped behind him in the wind, and his gaze was soft and sad. Their eyes met for a split second, and Sylvain’s heart rose with hope. 

But Felix broke eye contact and looked down. The hope dimmed in Sylvain’s chest as Felix turned away and padded back to his tent. 

Sylvain stood there a while longer, feeling all the spirit drain out of his body. There was nothing else he could say or do, so he quietly made his way to his own tent and let restless sleep take him over. 

The next morning, as they prepared to leave, a soldier marched up to Sylvain with a report. “The Sreng have been driven back, sir. It’ll be awhile before they invade again.”

“Oh, good.” Sylvain sagged with relief, feeling like he’d shed a hundred pounds of armor. 

“Also, the Masked Guardians left last night. Just thought you’d want to know.” 

Sylvain nodded, pretending like that whole statement hadn’t just crushed his entire world. “Thank you. Tell the others that I’m going to refill my water flask at the river, and then we’re leaving.” 

The soldier nodded and Sylvain walked away with his already-full water flask. When he reached the river, away from prying eyes, he collapsed on the muddy shore. His fingers dug into the dirt and weeds as tears spilled from his eyes. 

Just when he thought he’d had Felix, he was gone again. 

Felix was like a wisp in the wind that children struggled to catch, coins clinking in someone’s pocket as a beggar watched helplessly on, the last breath of life that puffed from a dying person. Hard to reach, and impossible to keep. 

“Goodbye, Fe,” he muttered to the river, defiantly wiping his tears away. There was no use crying over spilled milk. Felix was gone, possibly forever, and he had to accept it. 

He let himself breathe for a minute or two, then went to rejoin his troops. 

+1

Sylvain’s last fragment of Felix isn’t a memory. It isn’t a wandering thought nor an observation. 

It was a sword. 

A sword wrapped in brown paper, delivered to him on a cold, rainy night, that a servant had brought into his warm study. He thanked the servant and sent her on her way. He tore at the paper, an odd, sinking feeling settling into his stomach. 

And in the bundle of paper, he found the sword. He recognized it from the details on the blade right down to the hilt. It was the sword he had once given Felix, all those years ago, when they were both young and innocent. When they had still been students at the Officer’s Academy. It was the sword that Felix grudgingly admitted had good balance, and that he ended up using the most. Sylvain had cut down swathes of enemies with Felix by his side, that sword flashing as it severed heads, stabbed through chests, slashed through clothing and skin. One of the last few times he’d seen Felix- Sylvain’s heart clenched at the memory- he had been using that sword, still intact because of the magic put on it. 

But why was Felix sending it back?

Sylvain got his answer when he spotted the small envelope nestled in the paper. He opened it with trembling fingers, fearing the worst. 

He barely got past the first few words, ‘The will of Felix Hugo Fraldarius,’ before his eyes blurred too much to see. 

He leaned back in his chair, breathing heavily, tears beginning to drip down his face. This had to be a joke. Some kind of twisted joke and Felix was alive and okay somewhere…

Sylvain wished with all his heart that it could be true. But as he looked down at the paper, cold reality began to consume him like a slow-working poison. 

No, no, this was not true! Sylvain would prove it. He would search all of Fódlan and Almyra and Brigid and Dagda and Morfis, everywhere until he found Felix again. Because Felix Hugo Fraldarius could not be dead. Sylvain could not let him be dead. 

Sylvain’s heart led him on to believe this, but as he stared blankly at Felix’s sword, his brain began to make him realize the facts. Felix was dead, Felix was gone. Why else would Sylvain be sent his favorite sword and will? Felix would have never parted from that sword unless he died- and the will spoke for itself. 

Sylvain’s breath was coming in heavy gasps as he battled his tears, and his hands were shaking uncontrollably. Anger swept over him like a hot fire. Why was it Felix who had to die? Out of all the individuals in Fódlan more deserving of death, the goddess, or fate, or whatever, had chosen Felix. This wasn’t fair, this wasn’t just, this wasn’t right. Sylvain clenched the sword, his knuckles whitening around the hilt. He had to do something about this! He couldn’t just let this stand. 

But there was nothing he could do, and the realization of it was like a bucket of cold water, extinguishing his fire. He buried his face in his hands, great, wracking sobs being ripped from his body. Please, he begged, not sure who exactly he was begging to. I’ll do anything, anything you want, I promise. You can even kill me if you want, just please, bring him back, give him back… 

But there was no one to hear him and nothing to bring Felix back. As Sylvain’s crying began to quiet, he felt his heart shatter into fragments. 

Fragments. 

Tiny, fragile fragments that once made up a beautiful whole. 

And now, they were all he had left. 

\---

After the death of his closest friend, Margrave Gautier was never the same. He immersed himself in his work and barely talked to anyone. When the Sreng invaded again, he threw himself into battle. It is said that he became more and more reckless on the battlefield, charging enemy soldiers all on his own and going off on dangerous missions without telling anyone. Eventually, this recklessness led him to be fatally wounded by a group of enemy soldiers. He died hours later of his injuries. Witnesses report that his last words were, “I guess I’m going the same way you did… see you soon, Felix.” When he drew his final breath, his expression wasn’t one of pain, but of peace.


End file.
